


3am

by untouchableocean



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, its almost midnight oops, set in the 2018 pre-season i guess but very vaguely, who said vent fic? ya boi said vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 15:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableocean/pseuds/untouchableocean
Summary: Max can't sleep.





	3am

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer this is fiction blah blah blah etc  
> okay, this one deals with some pretty heavy stuff, there's no explicit violence but it's like. if you think you might be triggered by referenced abuse and the aftermath of it then probably give this one a miss. stay safe kiddos

The bathroom light is harsh, almost blinding him as he quickly but quietly shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. Daniel is asleep and has been for the past several hours, but Max just hasn’t been able to make himself drift off. He doesn’t feel at home in Daniel’s apartment tonight, despite having slept there basically every night of the off-season. He can’t understand what’s wrong with him, why he can’t stop his mind going like this; he’s had sleepless nights before, but usually before races, at least he has a reason for that. There was nothing that should be creeping into his mind tonight.

He pulls down his boxers and relieves himself for the third time that night, having drained at least four bottles of water from Daniel’s mini-fridge since they settled down to sleep. The wall was the same odd off-white colour that it had been on his previous two visits to the toilet, but Max could swear it was turning slightly yellower as the hours went by. He finishes up and tugs his boxers back on before drowsily swaying over to the sink. The water’s cold on his tired skin, and after soaping up and rinsing a couple of times (not really knowing why he repeated the action) he splashes some over his face. It stings, and all he’s left with is a wet top and a cold face.

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror and feels something ache in his chest, something painful. He doesn’t understand what it is but it’s hurting him, itching to burst out, and he slides his hand under his thin cotton t-shirt and rubs at where he thinks his heart is beating, throbbing within the confines of his ribcage. He thinks about Daniel and it slams against the fragile bones, threatening to explode under his palm.

Daniel, with his sun-kissed skin and chocolate eyes that Max could stare into for hours and hours.

Daniel, whose bed he sleeps in almost every night, pressed against his body, waiting out the darkness in his arms.

Daniel, who his father told him never to trust, because he’s his worst enemy.

Daniel, who Max knows he doesn’t deserve.

He digs his palms into his eyes, pushing until all he can see is multi-coloured dots swimming around his vision before letting go and watching the pulsing shapes dissipate as he focuses on his own figure in the mirror. He closes his eyes again and leans forwards, resting his hands on the cool sink. He takes a deep breath before snapping them back open to find himself staring into his father’s piercing blue eyes, and the ache in his chest finally bursts.

He feels every word his father’s ever said to him, every failed race and the disappointment that they shared, every punch in the chest and every harsh lesson taught, and he doesn’t know when the tears started to flow but they’re flowing hot and heavy, steaking down his face and turning the milky whites of his eyes crimson and bloodshot. He wants to look away but something’s stopping him, and he’s unable to tear himself away from his own anguished face as he sobs quietly.

He hates seeing himself like this, falling apart at the seams, letting it all out, it’s humiliating. He knows what happens when he shows emotions like this, when he dares to feel anything other than anger or joy. Even alone, he can hear the words banging around in his head; stop crying, what’s going to come of that, you’re useless, push it down, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t-

Before he realises it he’s doubled over the toilet, heaving and throwing up the burning pain from his chest. He spits the last sharp drop of vomit out and fumbles for the flush. The cold porcelain bowl feels good on his cheek as he leans against it, watching with satisfaction as his pain swirls down into the Monaco sewers before letting his tired body collapse and crumple in a still mess on the tiles. He rests his head on his hand and sighs.

He stares across the bathroom floor, somehow unable to find the will to get up. He wants to move, but he just…can’t. He feels his cheeks becoming damp again, and he can feel his chest heaving, and he can hear his sobs echoing through the room, but he’s completely out of control. He can’t make it stop, he’s never been able to make it stop, make anything stop, and the crushing feeling of helplessness only pushes out more tears. He manages to sit up, grabbing his legs and pulling his knees close to his chest, breathing like a new-born baby, screwing his eyes shut to force the tears back in.

Suddenly there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Max? You okay?”

Fuck! He woke Dan up? He throws his hand over his mouth, holding his breath, hoping that Dan will go away if he shuts up, but of course he doesn’t.

“I’m coming in dude.”

The door swings open and Max quickly shuffles backwards, pushing himself into the corner and avoiding Daniel’s face.

“Don’t, I’m fine, I swear. Go back to sleep.”

Daniel scoffs as he walks over and sits next to him, genuine concern in his voice.

“I can’t sleep if you’re in here screaming the house down, mate. Besides, I’m not leaving you crying on your own.”

He rubs Max’s arm gently, and the Dutchman leans in, falling right into Dan’s embrace. The tears are gone now, dried up almost instantly in Dan’s presence. The Aussie rubs small circles on Max’s back, and he loops his arms under the younger man’s arms, helping him to his feet. Max follows Dan back to the bedroom, taking a final glance in the mirror. He can’t work out what he’s seeing, a blurry, faceless figure, nothing recognisably human but the shape, and his gut drops.

Dan switches off the bathroom light and shuts the door, gently guiding Max to the bed but he swats his hand away and grabs his own arms, closing himself off, forcing his eyes shut.

“Max, what’s going on? Talk to me, babe.”

It's that, that final word that sets him off again, a single wretched tear staining his already crimson cheeks. A strangled sob escapes his throat as he pushes his back into the wall, and he has no idea what to do with his body as he goes in for a third round of tears; less violent this time, more subdued, mostly because his body is running out of energy.

Dan steps forwards, tentatively touching Max’s shoulder, and when he doesn’t pull away he brings him to the bed. Max sits and instantly lays down, slamming his head into the pillows. Dan sighs and shuffles up the bed, laying down so they’re facing each other. He reaches down and laces their fingers, rubbing his thumb over Max’s own, eliciting a sigh from the younger man.

“Max…”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I know you don’t, but sometimes you have to get it out.”

Max is still, dead still for a moment before closing the gap between him and Dan. He buries his face in Dan’s chest, letting out heavy breaths, mustering the courage to bring the words to his mouth.

“I see him. When I look in the mirror I see him.”

He feels Dan’s hand running through his hair.

“I hate him. It hurts, Dan, it fucking hurts, everything he did, it still…”

He steadies his breathing as Dan softly kisses his forehead, holding him closer, absorbing it all.

“You’re not your dad, Max. You won’t become him. You’ve already done more in three years of Formula one than he managed in almost ten. And if you feel like shit again, don’t hold it in. I’ll always be here for you, always.”

Max is shaking like a leaf under Dan’s arms now, and he nuzzles into his neck, keeping his eyes shut.

“I’ll never let him lay a finger on you again. I promise.”

Max pulls Dan down into a warm, tender kiss, leaning into his touch. When they finally separate, Dan touches their foreheads together and Max speaks in no more than a whisper.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They remain like that, limbs tangled up, and Max is able to relax for the first time that night. The shadow is still there, he knows it is, but he feels safe knowing he’s got Daniel to run to when it all gets too much. And finally, in Daniel’s arms, he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> j*s verstappen die


End file.
